Second Chance
by smithandbarrowman
Summary: It's not often you get a second chance. It's less often that second chance is granted by the one person you always thought beneath you.


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My writing wouldn't be possible without the help of the team behind me. They read, edit, cheerlead, and keep me on track.

Two of them stalked me.  
Two of them were introduced amidst a bunch of lies.  
One of them has become a new collaborator.

This is for them.

**coyg_81, LaBelladoneX, CuppaTea90, PotionChemist, and TheOtterandTheDragon,**

Thank you all for everything you do for me.  
Thank you for being kind and generous.  
Thank you for encouraging me.  
Thank you for being my friends.

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**SECOND CHANCE**

* * *

Draco squirmed, his body reacting to his brain's want to wake up. He held his eyes shut, squeezing them tightly against the morning light. His head was pounding. Not from the consumption of too much alcohol, but from the headache brought about by the constant noise of the raucous celebrations the previous day.

He'd been dreading it.

His first year of being completely sober had been difficult enough without the madness of Christmas celebrations with his friends, but he'd managed to slowly turn his life around. Scotch, vodka, rum. Alcohol had been the numbing necessity that he thought he needed after the war, but it had also become the bane of his existence. The numbing effect had been too effective, everything had been better in a drunken haze. He felt nothing, cared for nothing, needed nothing.

It was only an intervention performed by Blaise and Pansy that had caused him to rethink his life. After five years of watching him in a constant state of denial, they'd had enough. Pansy got into his face — as only Pansy could — and ranted at him.

Worthless.  
Useless.  
Ungrateful.  
Selfish.  
Pathetic.  
Grow up.

It was all there. Plus, several more adjectives that only Pansy could get away with.

Blaise had simply grinned slyly at him and then proceeded to gather every bottle of alcohol in his flat — even the ones Draco thought he had hidden — and exploded each bottle one at a time.

And it had been the exact wake-up call he'd needed. The amount of broken glass had been horrific, and it had been the most apt metaphor if there ever was one; he had made a complete mess of his life, and he needed to clean it up.

A stint in a muggle rehab facility, where no one knew him, had set him on the right path. A flippant response from him regarding 'the war' had been accepted without question. Apparently muggles were constantly at war, so his reason for drinking had needed no further explanation.

Once he'd gotten out, he'd thrown himself into building his Apothecary. Potions were his passion, and Blaise and Pansy were only too happy to help. His business had started small and had remained that way. He'd not wanted to follow the large companies; instead he'd wanted to remain true to his mentor and only make specialty potions. And in doing so, _SS Apothecary_ had become a resounding success.

He'd been doing well, his life had been improving, and his need to numb himself had lessened to the point where he rarely thought about drinking.

But this Christmas had been almost too much to bear. There had been too many people. Too many oddities — Pansy and Potter, to begin with.

He had been shocked, to say the least, when his childhood friend told him that she had begun seeing Potter as more than _just a friend. _The pair had been secretly together for almost a year and had only made their relationship public in the last six months. Seeing them together was mind-boggling, but the expression on Pansy's face was enough to let him know just how happy his friend was.

It had been an adjustment, however, to learn to be tolerant of his childhood enemies. Potter, Granger and Weasley — _Ginny Weasley _— had become fixtures in his life. Blaise and Pansy had befriended them, asking for forgiveness for their behaviour during their Hogwarts years.

And of course, the trio had forgiven them. It was what they had been taught — forgiveness, respect, kindness, empathy. But there was one person they'd not been able to forgive.

The Golden Trio had fallen out. Ron, apparently, was a prat — Draco had known that already — and had treated Granger appallingly.

According to Pansy, Weasley had used Granger's feelings to play with her. He had promised her that he would love her forever, but told her that before they settled down he needed to "explore what was out there." Granger had taken it to mean Weasley wanted to travel the world and discover what he wanted to do in life. But Weasley's idea of exploring was not what Granger had expected.

Women had been what he'd wanted to explore. Women who wouldn't have looked twice at him if not for Potter and Granger lifting his status by simply being friends with him. They were the brains — well, Granger was — and Weasley had clung to them because he knew they were his ticket to fame.

And his plan had worked.

The prat had even turned up to Granger's flat for Christmas a year and a half after the war with a pea-brained, bleached-blonde bint on his arm, and not caring in the slightest at his complete lack of consideration for Granger's feelings. Potter had confronted him, as had Ginny, but Weasley just laughed them off, telling them that 'Hermione would wait for him. She always did.'

Granger had kicked him out and told him to never come near her again.

Draco had laughed when Pansy told him. He'd never thought Weasley in Granger's league, not even close. What she had seen in him, Draco couldn't understand. Dumb as two planks, always using incorrect spells and charms, always copying her work, and chasing every girl at school _except_ Granger.

Draco huffed out a small laugh. Weasley was, put simply, an idiot.

"Why are you awake?" a sleepy voice asked from beside him, a delicate arm sliding across his chest. "It's too early."

Draco smiled. Weasley's idiocy had been his gain.

"My head is pounding," he said quietly. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"Did you need me to get you something?"

Her concern for him was overwhelming. He didn't deserve her. Weasley was an idiot, but he had treated her equally as appallingly when they were younger. But she'd been the one to help him the most.

The war had changed her as well. The know-it-all swot he had hated was the one person who seemed to understand why he had turned to drink to get by. She had never ranted at him, never judged him, had never told him he deserved the life he had chosen. Instead, she had been calm and patient and had given him more respect than he truly deserved.

And that was why he had fallen for her.

"No." He kissed her forehead. "You do enough for me. The potions are just in the bathroom, I can get up."

"Be quick," she murmured. "The bed will get cold."

He kissed her again and sat up. His head spun, and he cursed himself for not muffling his ears before everyone arrived for Christmas. His tolerance for noise was low, and his patience with a crowd of people even lower. Hermione had assured him that there would only be a small group for dinner — Harry and Pansy, Ginny and Theo, Blaise and Graham, Daphne and Longbottom — but Molly Weasley had gotten wind of the plans and the entire family showed up. As had Pansy's parents, the Greengrasses, and Blaise's mother.

He should have been grateful, he supposed, to have family and friends around him. His own parents had wiped their hands of him when he turned to alcohol. It was an embarrassment to acknowledge his problem, and it certainly wouldn't win them any favours in the old society. So they lived their lives as if he didn't exist, as if he'd _never_ existed. Hermione had been furious when she'd learned they'd disowned him, but he'd told her not to bother with them. His new life far exceeded his old one, and he no longer needed, or wanted, them around.

Draco slowly stood and made his way to the bathroom. He hated to rely on potions to get him through the tougher days, but Hermione had told him it was nothing to be ashamed of. They'd been through a hell which no teenager should ever have to endure, and if a potion helped his headaches, well, it was far better than a shot of tequila.

He splashed cold water on his face while the potion soothed the pain inside his head. He rarely looked in the mirror, but today, he glanced quickly at himself. He was pale — that was expected — but the heaviness in his eyes was gone and his cheeks were no longer drawn and hollowed. The scruffy, homeless look that had come about with too much alcohol and not enough food was just a memory. He looked healthier than he had in years.

And the reason for that was curled up, warm and cozy, in the bed he'd just crawled out of.

He smiled at his reflection — another rarity — and returned to the bedroom, pausing in the doorway to look at her. The covers were pulled up to her chin, her unruly hair splayed out behind her like a chestnut wave on the white linen. Her eyes were closed, but he knew she wasn't asleep. A tiny smile played on her lips; she knew he was watching her.

"Stop staring at me and come back to bed." Her eyes opened slowly and her smile widened. "But take those off first."

Draco glanced down at his boxers, and the familiar curl of heat throbbed low in his belly. She lifted her head off the pillow and watched as he pushed the waistband over his hips and down his legs. He kicked his feet free and took a step towards the bed.

"Wait!" She snaked her arm out from beneath the covers, and Draco felt a warm tingle all over his skin.

His trip to the bathroom had been quick, but she hated the cold, and his skin had cooled considerably.

"You warmed me?" He slipped in under the covers, his hand instantly seeking out her breast. "I can think of better ways to warm up."

"I thought you had a headache?"

"Someone here knows how to brew potions extremely well." Draco rolled her to her back and hovered over her. "My headache is gone."

"Must've been the one I brewed." Hermione grinned cheekily at him and he tickled her ribs.

"Sass like that will only get you punished."

He buried his hands in her hair and pressed his mouth to hers. She sighed deeply, her breath drifting over his face. For several minutes, he just kissed her, their lips moving together, tongues touching, desire building slow and heavy until their bodies hummed with need. Draco groaned and drew back, staring down at her. Her lips were swollen, her eyes filled with lust, her breathing fast.

"Hermione," he murmured, his voice laced with desire as he ran his hands over her warm skin, wanting to feel every dip and curve of her body under his fingers. His hands covered her breasts, full and lush, her nipples already taut and sensitive.

"Draco…" her breath caught as he lowered his head, tonguing the rosy buds to stiff peaks.

She whimpered as he drifted lower, grazing his teeth over the ticklish place under her left breast, smiling at her giggles as he teased.

He pressed feather-light kisses across her stomach, his hands pushing gently against her thighs, opening her up to him. He dipped lower, his tongue never leaving her skin, swirling and circling, raining tiny kisses along the insides of her thighs.

"You're wet, baby." Draco glanced up at her. "What were you doing while I was gone?"

"Nothing," Hermione giggled. "Just thinking about you."

"Hmm, just thinking about me," He slipped his fingers into her wet heat, revelling in the tiny gasp that escaped her. "What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking… _Draco_, _oh_, do that again…" Her gasp turned into a wail as he curled his fingers inside her and dipped his head, closing his mouth over her and tasting her sweetness.

Her body arched, her thighs tensing as he explored and teased with his tongue. She buried her hands in his hair, gripping tightly as he found a rhythm with both his tongue and fingers. Her moans and whimpers filled the room, his tongue sliding over her clit, his fingers stroking her deeply.

"Draco…" she clutched at his shoulders, frantically trying to pull him to her. "You… I need you."

Her legs wrapped around his hips as he fell on top of her, his mouth instantly on hers. Draco groaned. Her wet skin caressed his aching cock as she writhed beneath him.

"Draco, please." Her voice was desperate. "This is what I was thinking about."

Their eyes locked, and Draco shifted his hips, sinking deep into her tight warmth. He lowered his mouth to hers as he began to move. He took his time, rocking his hips in slow, even thrusts that built until they were both lost in the desire and heat that was _them._

Hermione clung to him, her hands gripping his arse, her fingernails dragging along his back. Her breathy moans and her gasped cries of his name urged him on. He clutched her shoulders, speeding up and taking her with powerful thrusts, their sweat-soaked skin sliding together.

The headboard pounded against the wall repeatedly, the covers sliding off their bodies as their movements became frenzied.

With a loud groan, Draco buried his face in her neck, her body tensing beneath him, her heat tightening around him. She cried out, a choked sound that held his name, her body bucking up against his. His own orgasm washed over him, every nerve alight as he released deep inside her, moaning out her name.

Sliding his arms around her back, Draco rolled them, holding her to his chest. She sighed, contented, as he pulled the lost covers over them.

"You struggled yesterday." She covered his heart with her palm. "There were too many people and I hated not being able to comfort you."

"I was okay." He pulled her fingers to his lips and kissed them gently. "You were close by, that was all I needed."

"When will we tell everyone?" She shifted, moaning quietly as he slipped out of her, and then relaxed into his side. "I'm ready for them all to know."

He held her tighter and exhaled slowly. No one knew about them. They had wanted to take things slowly, had wanted to get to know each other properly before they announced they were together. But their secret relationship had been tough to hide. He wanted to be with her all the time, wanted her close, but he also didn't want any pressure from their friends.

He'd made up a lame excuse to leave early the previous night, and she had seen him to the door. Her eyes were full of concern; she could always tell when things had become too much for him. He'd thanked her for a lovely day, but he'd not Apparated home

Instead, he landed quietly in her bedroom, silencing the room. The darkness and the instant quiet had calmed him, and he'd stripped down to his boxers and crawled into her bed, the soft scent of her allowing him to drift off to sleep almost immediately. He'd not heard her come to bed, had not even felt her body curl against his, as she did every night. The day had drained him, but he knew it would be the last time they hid.

Draco placed a finger beneath her chin and gently tilted her face to look up at him.

"New Year's is a week away. We'll be at Potter's, and when the clock strikes midnight, I will kiss you." He ran his thumb across her bottom lip. "And I will kiss you in a way that will leave no doubt as to how much I love you."

Hermione's breath caught and tears pricked at her eyes. "How much you… love me?"

"It's true, Hermione Granger." Draco pressed his lips to her forehead and closed his eyes. He breathed deeply, dragging her scent into his senses. He'd never expressed the sentiment before. Not to anyone. "You have given me more than I ever deserved, and I want the world to know that I am completely in love with you."

She looked up at him, her eyes filling with tears. "I love you too."

Everything, every moment in his life, had brought him to her. His past was behind him, the darkness finally conquered because of the woman curled in his arms. She had given him everything.

And now she had said those three words he had so longed to hear.

He pressed another gentle kiss to her forehead and leaned his cheek on top of her head.

He waited until she relaxed and fell asleep before shutting his own eyes, knowing when he awoke she would be beside him.

And would be beside him, always.


End file.
